


Rat Catching

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm and Hoshi chase a rat. (06/08/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: A big thanks to PJ and Senior, for the idea of Malcolm and Hoshi chasing a rat, and the suggestion that Hoshi and Malcolm come into close contact over it. I'll leave you to decide who came up with each idea!  
  
Beta: PJâ€”who did more than just beta, but made some excellent suggestions as well.  


* * *

I never thought several million tonnes of aluminium alloys could be home, but over the past year Enterprise had certainly come to feel like it for me. And never did she feel more like home than when I returned from an away mission.  
Particularly an away mission with Dr. Phlox in which I was the sole Starfleet representative. I wondered why the Captain was laughing when he gave me this mission. It only took an hour on the planet to find out. A whole week of enthusiastic Denoblian doctors, all discussing fungal infections...Well, let's just say I was most careful with the cleanliness of my bathroom that week. But we were home now. Home to Enterprise. I was so tired. Only half an hour or so and I could be tucked up in my narrow little bunk. Even the dignified speech I had prepared over that interminable week would have to wait. Pity really. My argument against having tactical officers performing diplomatic duties was, if I say so myself, unassailable.

Decon with Phlox. Shudder. Another memory to erase as soon as humanly possible.

Shower.

Bed.

Wonderfâ€”

"Tucker to Reed."

Is wonderfuck a word? If not, I just invented it. "What?"

Trip sounded a bit surprised at my abrupt tone. And more than a little agitated. "Sorry to bother you, Malcolm, but we've got a bit of a problem down here."

How charming for him. And for his crew. "Really?" Oops, hope that didn't sound as sarcastic as I think.

Apparently it did. "Well, _excuse me_ , Mr. Security, but we're picking up an alien biosign down here. Just thought you'd want to know."

Must remember to tell Trip that sarcasm does not work with Southern accent.

"On my way." One last longing look at that wonderfully comfortable bed, and I reached for my uniform. With luck the internal scanners were just playing up, and my bed and I would be reunited shortly.

One can always hope, even if it is a forlorn hope.

Half a league, half a league, half a league onward.

Engineering didn't resemble the valley of death so much as the circus of the living.

The crew seemed to be conducting some kind of search for the alien.

An odd search, one that seemed to consist of looking in ridiculously small places close to the deck. And when I finally found Commander Tucker, he was looking ratherâ€”well, hysterical.

If ever I wanted the unpleasant experience of seeing Commander Tucker channelling my sister, now was definitely not the time.

"Malcolm! Thank God, you're here!"

Nice to know that after a week away one's fellow officers appreciated one's worth.

"How may I be of assistance, Commander?" I made a huge effort. And I really sounded most gracious. Not a hint of exhaustion. Excellent.

"It's aâ€”thing! A purple, fluffy, rat thing! And it's in my engineering!" His hands waved in the air, apparently trying to describe the fluffiness. Or the thing. Or perhaps even his engineering.

"Perhaps you could be more specific, Commander?"

"No, ah cahn't!" His accent grew thicker with every word and his hands still flapped. "It's here, it's small, it's purple and it looks like a rat! If it gets near mah warp core gawd knows what damage it could do!"

"There's no need to shout, Commander." After all, an officer had to maintain his or her composure at all times. Particularly when surrounded by smirking crewmen.

"Commander Tucker doesn't like rats," Crewman Kelly said, helpfully. And I might add, rather needlessly.

"That has nothin' ta do with it. I am merely worried about mah warp core."

Taylor appeared at my side. At last, someone sensible from Security. Someone sensible apart from me, of course. He was armed with scanners and two phase pistols. "I've managed to recalibrate the scanners, sir, so we'll be able to track it down easily."

"Well, Taylor, let's see if we can find Mr Tucker's rat for him, hmm?"

There were only a few sniggers, quickly suppressed, as I glared at random. Scanning for rats after a week of Denoblian diplomacy. How the mighty have fallen.

"How on earth did a purple fluffy rat get onboard, anyway?"

"Well, sir, we think it might be one of the Jightefs' pets," said Taylor as he looked around at all the small hiding places in which engineering abounded.

"But they were large and short-haired, weren't they?"

And with rather horrible digestive problems. But Porthos took a liking to them, so of course the captain let the ghastly creatures stay.

"Yep, but they have babies real quick. And according to that database the head Jightef guy gave us, the babies are small and purple and just like one of our earth rats."

Must remember to tell Taylor to learn proper titles. Head Jightef Guy is not one of them. I'm sure the captain would not like to be called Head Enterprise Guy.

Then again, knowing the captain, he probably would.

But away from mental discussions on the proper distance between a captain and his crew, and back to rat chasing. Now there's a thrilling change of topic. I travel further than any Englishman ever before, and all to become a rodent inspector. I'm sure that there is some kind of Pythonesque humour in this situation. And I'm sure by next month I'll be able to appreciate it.

Taylor looked thrilled at the prospect of a good rodent hunt.

However, no one would be happier when we tracked down the rodent than I. At least then I could get back to bed.

As we left engineering, Kelly pointed out that the loose jumpsuit legs could prove attractive to the rat. I am unsure if this was deliberate teasing or if Kelly was merely being frivolous. Either way it had a most undesirable effect on Mr Tucker. Holding the hems of said trousers tight in each hand whilst bent over was not conduct becoming.

Oh dear. For the sake of my sleep, and of the very little dignity Mr. Tucker still possessed, Taylor and I had better get a move on.

After some very efficient looking scanning, Taylor pointed confidently to one of engineering's numerous access hatches.

"In there, sir."

"Excellent, Taylâ€”Ahchoo!"

"Bless you, sir"

"Thank you, Tayâ€”Ahchoo!"

And another three sneezes before we got to the hatch. I must be allergic to the stupid rodent. While Taylor removed the hatch and scanned the conduit, I sneezed eleven times. And now my eyelids were starting to swell. Not to mention my flowing nose. Could this day get any better?

"Most impressive, sir. I didn't know you could sneeze that many times and not fall down dead."

Oh ha-ha-bloody-ha. Must remember to ensure next second-in-command doesn't have a sense of humour.

"Dust det on wid id Daydor," I muttered through an incredibly blocked nose.

Taylor's sense of humour may be lacking, but his intelligence wasn't. One look at my swollen, streaming face and on with it he got.

Together we crept through the conduit. We didn't really need the scanner. My incredibly accurate allergies helped ensure we didn't take a wrong turning. Amazing how loud a sneeze could echo in the conduits. Even Taylor looked pained after my last marathon of fourteen sneezes.

Ten minutes of crawling and my knees were sore, my sneezes were numerous, and my face swollen. I would have murdered for a handkerchief. As it was I had to make do with my sleeve. I could imagine my recently departed grandmother Reed looking down from on high, shaking her head. "A gentleman never leaves home without a  
handkerchief, Malcolm. " Well, at last some useful pearls of wisdom snuck out through the gin.

The ratâ€”or whatever it wasâ€”obviously had a perverse sense of humour. It led us through three painful decks and seventeen awkward sections. And we never once got even a glimpse of it.

I did think Taylor was getting carried away. His foxhunting cries were quite unnecessary. If he thought he was encouraging me, he was wrong. I've never been foxhunting in my life.

Although his idea of recalibrating the phasers from `kill' to `obliterate' did have merit.

We were climbing up to our third deck and eighteenth section when I noticed a rather attractive pair of legs, followed by an extremely attractive bum, descending the ladder towards us.

Ensign Sato. I knew without any hesitation. After all, I had been studying her closely for three months now. I knew all about her favourite foods, her friends, her likes and dislikes. I had also studied her so thoroughly that I knew exactly what she looked like from all angles. Those angles now included, most happily, from below. In another three months I hoped to get up enough courage to ask her  
out.

"Hey, Hosh!" Taylor exclaimed happily.

Must remember to talk to Taylor on proper forms of address between officers whilst on duty.

Hoshi finished her climb down. "Hi, Jim. Hi, Malcolm"

Then again, calling a fellow officer by first names did have its merits.

"Come to join the chase?" Taylor seemed a bit too eager for Hoshi's company for my liking.

"Actually the Captain sent me down with these for poor Malcolm," and she waved a medkit bag at us.

Was `poor Malcolm' a step up from just `Malcolm'?

She unpacked the bag, talking all the while. I caught bits of it in between sneezes. "The conduits are acting like a sound carrier. You can hear Malcolm's sneezes all over the ship- " oh, happy dayâ€”" so the Captain sent me to Phlox for some anti-rodent meds."

Fan-bloody-tastic. Now the entire ship knows the armory officer is allergic toâ€”well, whatever the rodent was. There goes whatever formidable image I've managed to build up.

Hoshi gave me a shot of something. "That's an anti-histamine for the sneezing." Then she held out a wipe of some kind. "And this is to reduce the swelling and itchiness on your face."

I was going to take the wipe from her but she leaned forward and started to wipe my face down. Her own face was so close to mine. I could feel her breath in my hair, and smell the faint scent of her skin, and see every dark eyelash...

Time stopped.

Unfortunately Taylor kept going. "So, Hosh, whatdya think of the movie last night?"

Hoshi jumped. "Not as bad as last week's." The moment was gone.

Have I mentioned how much I hate Taylor?

Then she leaned forward again. "A few more wipes should see you more comfortable."

Bliss. Utter bliss. And I don't mean just the removal of the allergy symptoms. Now that I could smell again I was deliciously aware of Hoshi's perfume: something that reminded me of dusk on a summer evenings...A part of me was very aware that I would be reliving this moment several times a day for years to come. The other part,the Reed part, was simply keen to find the alien rodent and head to bed.

Bed. Hoshi and bed...Hoshi and bed and me and...No, better not go there while on duty. Or off duty, for that matter. Not before I've asked her out, at least. In three month's time.

Hoshi bent over to pack up the medkit. Taylor, damn him, was having a good old leer at the view. The man must be stopped. "So, Taylor,where to now?"

Taylor frowned at his scanner. "Um, sirâ€”"

Oh, what now?

"Either there's something wrong with the scanner, or there's more than one of the rats running around." Taylor looked less than amused at either option. And when he showed me the readings, I was definitely unaware of any humour in the situation at all. There was only one thing for it. Take the scanner back to  
engineering and recalibrate it.

Wonderful. Another hour of sleep gone.

"Jim, why don't you take the scanner back to engineering. I can give Malcolm a hand tracking it down."

Instead of taking up Hoshi's eminently sensible suggestion, Taylor seemed inclined to argue. "But, Hoshâ€”"

"Now that Malcolm's stopped sneezing, I can hear the rat. It squeaks, you see." And she smiled at Taylor and made shooing gestures. Excellent strategic thinker, that's my Hoshi. My Hoshi? Well, why not? Could happen, couldn't it?

Taylor went, reluctantly. Hoshi smiled at his departing back, and then her smile widened to include me.

Time stopped again.

She pointed up to the access hatch to the air recycler.

"It's in there," she whispered.

Oh. So that's why she was smiling. Well, of course. What could she possibly see in a crusty, distant, not particularly attractive armory officer? Nothing. Exactly. My Hoshi? Probably never.

And my shattered heart would just have to get used to it. Odd how I hadn't realised how much the health of my heart depended on Hoshi. How I wanted to retreat to my room to enjoy a good talking to with that bottle of whisky I was saving for Christmas.

But first we had to catch Trip's rat. Chin up, do your duty like a Reed.

Sometimes I hate being my father's son.

I looked up at the access hatch. There was no way I would be able to climb up to it: it was flush with the edge of the wall and there were no hand holds. Goodness knows how engineering got to it.

Hoshi, my strategic thinkerâ€”no, not my Hoshi, I'd have to get used to thatâ€”was already planning ahead. "Could you lift me up? I could reach the hatch from your shoulders."

"Of course." Not a problem. No, holding the woman of your dreams not sixty seconds after she unintentionally stomps on your heart merely adds to the piquancy of the day.

I squatted down, and she climbed on my shoulders. Getting her up to the hatch was easy. She was as light as a feather. Standing there while she released the hatch was harder. Her legs shifted against my shoulders. Her stomach pressed against the back of my head, and against my neck I could feel...

Don't think about it, don't think, and definitely don't get â€”

Too late.

Hopefully she won't notice. No, of course she wouldn't.

After all, these Starfleet uniforms are _so_ loose-fitting.

Or maybe not.

Thinkâ€”think anything. Think of Great Aunt Hilda. Great Aunt Hilda's support hose. And the baby's-nappy-coloured cardigan. And her beard plucking. Beard plucking. Plucking. Plucking rhymes with...

Oh, shut up!

What was she doing up there anyway? Shifting around on my shoulders,teasing and tormenting me. You'd think she was doing it on purpose. How long did it take to catch â€”

"I've got it, Malcolm." Her voice was muffled but triumphant. "It's almost asleep. I've put it inside my uniform."

Lucky, lucky rodent.

"Hang on," she continued. "If I turn around up here I can slither down between you and the wall, because I don't want to take my hand off it."

There is no mercy for me tonight. Please, just let me get through the next few minutes and I'll do anything...

Some of the weight lifted off my shoulders as she leaned on the hatch opening. Then there was a lot of squirming around, which, sadly, involved my face being pressed into her stomach. Oh, heaven and hell combined into one delicious, rounded package...No, no mercy at all.

"I'm on my way down."

Just the images those innocent words conjured up...Well, if she was innocent now in about two seconds she wasn't going to beâ€”"Goodness, Malcolm, do you always keep a phase pistol in yourâ€”Oh. Um. Oh."

It was a line-ball decision as to which one of us was more embarrassed. Personally I think I was the winner.

She slithered down to the ground. Interesting how she managed to press herself as close to the wall as possible. Despite her efforts, though, I still felt the entire perfect body of Hoshi Sato pressed against me as she descended. Well, two seconds of perfect bliss to last a lifetime. What more could a chap ask?

I risked a quick glance at her. She was absolutely scarlet.

Really, this week couldn't get any better.

Then, of course, we both spoke at once.

"Hoshi, I'm sorry, it was entirely inappropriateâ€”"

"Malcolm, I don't know what to say, Iâ€”"

Stalemate. We each gazed at the utilitarian grey walls of the conduits as if they were previously undiscovered da Vincis.

I cleared my throat. "Well."

She patted the purple fluff peeking out of her jumpsuit.

"Well."

And in perfectly uncomfortable accord we returned to engineering.

What a bloody marvellous week. Any more like this and I'd end up as gin-soaked as Grandma.

Trip, now that the rodent had been found, was in fine form.

"Hey, Malcolm, Hoshâ€”rat catchers extraordinaire!"

Why did everyone feel compelled to call Hoshi "Hosh"? She had a beautiful name, which suited her so well. And an elated, relieved Trip was something I could hardly bear at the moment.

Hoshi gently pulled the rodent out of her uniform and placed in the cage Taylor held. I'm ashamed to say I found it amusing that Trip paled, just a little.

Well, my work here was done. Bed and whisky were calling. As I left, quietly, I couldn't resist a glance over my shoulder. They stood in a joking, united group. Trip, Taylor, Hoshi, assorted engineers. And none of them noticed I was leaving.

Alone. As usual.

Nothing like a bout of self-pity mixed in with exhaustion. Part of me sneered at my feelings; the other part wanted nothing more than to curl up on my bunk and indulge in a good wallow.

At least wallowing would involve resting on my bunk. Who said the week was a complete write-off?

Ten minutes of focused misery and my wallowing had singularly failed to become enjoyable. What was the point of opening a perfectly good bottle of Laphroaig, only to stare at the triple nip one has poured? Drink, Malcolm. Be a crime to waste the whisky. Generations of Reeds will be turning in their graves. Now there's an interesting thought. Is wasting an excellent bottle of whisky worse than forgoing the Royal Navy? Half a nip later and I had come to the conclusion that it was. Damn fine vintage, the '29. Well worth throwing a career over for. Almost worth throwing the possibility of love over.

Almost. I wasn't that drunk.

And now the doorbell was ringing. Fantastic. Couldn't even enjoy an excellent bout of misery by oneself. Although that fact alone was worth a good half hour of gloom...

"Malcolm! I know you're in there!"

Hoshi's voice. I suddenly felt quite depressingly sober.

Somehow I managed to put the whisky bottle in the cupboard and straighten my clothing. With luck I merely looked as if I'd been sleeping, not failing miserably in my feeble attempt to get pissed. I opened the door with what I was sure was a depressing lack of nonchalance. Nothing like seeing the object of your desire to focus the mind and unco-ordinate the body.

Hoshi looked nervous. Well, I had embarrassed her, poor girl.

"What can I do for you, Hoshi?"

"Um, can I come in?"

Privacy. She wanted privacy. Why? My exhausted, undrunk brain couldn't figure it out. But what the lady wanted, she got, so I stood aside to let her into my quarters.

Ah, that uncomfortable silence was back. How lovely.

She wandered around my cabin for a few endless seconds. No mean feat, considering it's size. Then "We're heading back to Jightef space to return the rat."

"Good."

"Trip is back to normal."

"That'sâ€”good."

"Yes."

The ship's linguist and a man who came first in English in his final year at school, and we can barely manage to hold a conversation. This was going to be a long, long five years unless I did something to make her more comfortable.

I couldn't bear the thought of Hoshi being uncomfortable.

"Hoshi, I'm sorry forâ€”well, for the incident in the conduit. It was most unprofessionalâ€”"

"No, Malcolm, I should apologize forâ€”well, for the phase pistol thing."

Silence.

Well, that cleared the air.

She went to the door, then turned. She still couldn't look directly at me. "But I'd just like to knowâ€”was it me that caused that reaction, or would you have had it with anyone?

Anyone female, I mean..."

As far as loaded questions went, this far surpassed "Does my bum look big in this." And she would ask me when I was befuddled with lack of sleep and a pathetically small amount of booze. Well, a Reed always tells the truth. So I straightened my shoulders and looked directly at the top of her turned head.

"No, it wasn't just that you were female. It was because it was you, Hoshi. And I apologise. Again. Unreservedly. Perhaps it would be best ifâ€”"

Odd, she was looking at me directly now. And now she was smiling.

That beautiful, wide smile that made time stop and my heart thud...

"Good," she whispered.

Oh, perfectly eloquent one-syllable word.

But what did she mean?

"Because perhaps I felt the same way about you, but it wasn't as obvious..."

Really?

_Really?_

Oh, God, now what?

Help her out, Reed, that's what a gentleman would do.

Particularly one as brave as my Hoshi, admitting to an attraction. It's more than I was prepared to do at the start of this evening. So I did the brave thing back. "Um, Hoshi, would you like toâ€”perhaps you'dâ€”well, join me for dinner tonight?"

Not Shakespeare, but I think I got my message across.

"I'd love to, Malcolm." And she smiled, that wide, lovely smile.

"Good." That perfect word again.

Somehow I managed to dredge up enough brain cells to arrange a time and a place to meet. We then spent some most enjoyable minutes smiling helplessly at each other.

Then I yawned. Hoshi laughed, gentlyâ€”a most beautiful soundâ€”and said she'd leave me to it. Then she leaned forward againâ€”oh, there was her scent, and the warmth of her skin andâ€”she kissed me gently on the cheek.

"Until tonight, then."

And she was gone.

What a week.

What a bloody marvellous, fantastic, most excellent week.

'My Hoshi.' I do like the sound of that.


End file.
